


The First Few Hours

by chatonnerie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hanzo and Symmetra bond over music, Music, Not a ship, Other characters are there but not the focus, Short & Sweet, Symmetra is a goddess who can hand sketch a perfect circle fight me, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15402501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatonnerie/pseuds/chatonnerie
Summary: On a flight back to Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Hanzo and Symmetra share a playlist and have their first proper conversation.A short piece focusing on the start of the friendship of two kindred spirits.





	The First Few Hours

The mission had been a hard one. Six agents sneaking an immense mobile version of Athena through an underground cavern system, whilst another six fought tooth and nail with Talon to claim the necessary connection points to enable the AI to hack into the mainframe.

Hanzo had been assigned the latter mission, along with Agents Symmetra, Reinhardt, Brigitte and Winston. The escort mission had been handled by Agents McCree, Genji, Tracer, D.Va, Mercy and Lúcio. The escort team had spun an elaborate story of Talon grunts all but throwing themselves into fire to try and steal the system, a story that had taken up the majority of the first hour in the eight-hour return flight to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Agent Reinhardt had then been allowed to commence his own tale of courage and determination, which didn’t portray any accurate representation of the uphill scramble they’d had to make over the connection points, losing one to Talon and having to locate and claim another _on the fly_ (Hanzo remained amazed at how many of Overwatch’s plans were done on the fly, but he supposed he wasn’t one to protest).

The majority of agents were now scattered, Commander Winston and Agent Tracer conversing with the AI in the cock pit, the more youthful agents gathered around the rec table with Agent Reinhardt laughing heartily along with their conversation, and Agents McCree, Mercy and Genji all exchanging brief conversations with each other as they drifted back and forth around the cabin.

And beside him was Agent Symmetra, as austere and self-occupied as he was.

He wouldn’t quite say he and Agent Symmetra were friends - after all, his mind still refused to think of her with any title except for Agent Symmetra - but they had reached an understanding. He respected her ability to focus and remain calm on the battlefield, her appreciation of silence and arts, her dedication to her craft - and offered a calm respite from the surrounding Agents' side-lined resentment for prior treatment of another, more heroic, member of Overwatch. He was aware she respected him for the exact same reasons.

It was through this mutual respect that the two had made some sort of truce. They didn’t speak, didn’t make eye contact and didn’t quite interact, but they certainly went to pains to sit next to each other on the hard seats of the transport, and he did thoroughly indulge in the relaxed silence that always seemed to accompany her presence.

He listened to music and focused on controlling his breathing, calming his adrenaline, as she sketched out quick rapid designs, intent on pulling her inspirations into the real world as much with graphite as she did with hard light. They never made conversation and never asked what the other was doing. That was their standard.

 

His pulse was just evening out when something loud snapped right beside him. Weary, he cracked open an eye.

Agent Symmetra was burning holes into her design, the two halves of her broken pencil rolling disjointedly. The entire drop ship was silent, watching her wearily, waiting for her to yank up a fuss over her now ruined work and shattered utensil.

Hanzo sighed internally.

Carefully, he removed his left earplug and held it out to her. She turned to stare at it instead.

“I find that music settles me down best after times of adrenaline.” he offered, placidly. If she refused it, he would return to his sounds and reinstall their relationship of approximate ignorance without any resistance.

And perhaps he _was_ a little surprised when she instead plucked it from his palm and replaced the comm’s earpiece - she hadn’t even taken it out yet- with the earplug. Even so, it wasn’t so out of character that nearly every person turned their attention from her to him. Genji’s green line was blazing directly at him, and beside him the cowboy was giving him a much subtler, more quizzical glance. They weren’t the only ones. Agent Lúcio was glancing between their pair with a mixed expression and Agent D.Va was outright gawking. Agent Tracer, on a lap back from the toilet, was the most open, with a dropped mouth and shining eyes.

Agent Symmetra was still frowning at bit at her work so Hanzo promptly blocked out the inspection, picked up one half of the pencil and mimed a sharpener.

She blinked at him, probably mildly surprised that he knew his way around graphite, before her expression smoothed and her fingers danced. Hanzo watched, despite his better intentions, interested. She seemed to primarily draw her movements from the Indian Bhangra, but the subtle quick movements here were much more akin to Finger Tutting and her digits flowed through air, bending the light into a pencil sharpener. She quickly erased her previous mistake and got back to work, Hanzo moved onto his next song, hands resting on his knees and they fell back into their silent understanding.

 

Several hours later, when most of the team were gathered around the recreation table, inspecting some sort of betting game the cowboy was clearly winning, Hanzo heard Agent Symmetra’s throat clear somewhat deliberately beside him.

He considered for a moment, before he turned his head. “Agent Symmetra?”

“When is this song from?” she asked immediately, eyes open and curious. He blinked.

“It is American Pop. I believe it is from the 20s.”

“Do you always listen to old pop music?” she continued, and he flashed a minute smile.

“Did you expect something different?”

“Yes,” she ever so slightly shifted her body towards him, “I have heard you playing classical music through the training room’s speakers.”

He grimaced internally. The only times he asked such frivolous requests from Athena was in the early hours of the morning. He supposed it natural for such a passionate graduate to continue working well into those hours. Seeing that her expectant gaze hadn’t changed, he shifted a bit, their shoulders now locking them in a private conversation.

“I find classical music is either incredibly mournful, or incredibly invigorating,” he remarked wryly, and she nodded in vigorous agreement, “Japanese pieces often employ either Shakuhachi or Taiko, which invoke similar sentiments. Pop songs often have smooth consistent rhythms that I can focus my breathing too. It is easier to calm myself down to them.”

The current melody in their ears swelled in emphasis before winding down to its conclusion. She hesitated for a moment, before holding out a hand.

“May I play some of the music I employ when working?”

He handed the comm over silently and she quickly typed in a request. The smooth beats were replaced with sweeping chorales in Urdu and the pair listened silently, as Agent Symmetra began absently tracing over previous lines, hand drawing spheres into place, erasing them and relocating them a mere fraction of space to the side, fitting in placements and sweeping arches, not a space of the various facades being wasted.

They listened to some of her music for a bit, before Hanzo absently pulled up a new playlist and began meshing the two varieties of song into one. She was immediately pointing out the best way to place disparate pieces in aurally pleasing ways, better patterns to allow both genres to be balanced, and managed a snicker as Hanzo indulged in mindlessly rearranging some of the songs so that the titles increased in length down the list, making ‘a diminutive staircase’.

It was only after they’d returned to their own minds that Hanzo felt the hum of a message.

 

[Genji Shimada:]

**Since when do _you_ let people touch your comm???**

He frowned slightly, and his gaze flickered up. His brother was gazing - presumably - at him quite intently and Hanzo felt a flicker of irritation.

[Hanzo:]

**She was showing me some music. Is there any reason to refute it?**

[Genji Shimada:]

**You’re still pretty oblivious, you know that?**

 

Irritated for a reason he didn’t understand, but was somehow infinitely familiar with, he closed the message utility and went back to focusing on his pulse and breaths. Genji’s casual interactions with his would-be killer were not something he was comfortable with contemplating after a six-hour mission.

 

* * *

 

After eight hours, the ORCA touched down at Watchpoint: Gibraltar and the various agents were hauling themselves to their feet, stretching out backs, nursing sore joints that hadn’t been given any chance to recover from the draining mission and then stiffened from too many hours on hard seats. Agent Mercy was the most lively of the bunch, closely rivalled by Agent Tracer and the doctor immediately had the most injured ones out first. As usual Hanzo waited for the rush of movement, expecting his companion to dance away to her study, and was thus surprised as she calmly waited beside him, standing up when he did and handing back the ear plug.

“Thank you for the music.” She spoke crisply, and he dipped his head slightly in response.

“It was a simple thing. I will leave you to recover now.”

“Agent Shimada-” she cut off, looked furious at herself, and then straightened up, “Agent Hanzo. I am planning on experimenting with a new tea blend tomorrow morning and would appreciate a second opinion. You drink tea.”

He stared at her. “I do drink tea, yes.”

“In that case, you will offer a valued insight.”

She held herself firm, before starting as he smiled tiredly at her.

“That sounds delightful. And please, just call me Hanzo.”

“Excellent,” her whole face brightened with delight, “in that case, you will call me Satya.”

“Very well. And now, I really do need to sleep.”

The pair walked down the ORCA’s ramps, footsteps in time with the other’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Hot tip: look up Urdu Choir - there are some really gorgeous varieties out there
> 
> As someone who gets a bit mentally overwhelmed by adrenaline rushes, I often rely on music to calm down and relax, and low key thought maybe Hanzo and Symmetra might bond over it.
> 
> (Sym definitely gets two hours of sleep and insists she's still productive)(Hanzo hasn't seen a college graduate in ten years and still can't believe he used to be that stubborn)
> 
> as always, I am lurking out in chatonnerie.tumblr.com


End file.
